


Sober & Unkissed

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek, having no luck recruiting Scott & Co. to his pack, tries a different angle. (Hint: it involves a leather jacket and lots of alcohol)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sober & Unkissed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago and I was going to follow up but I ran out of steam... I kind of like the ending as is though. Feedback would be much appreciated, if I do decide to continue the story.

“I could give you the bite…”

“For the millionth time, Derek,” Stiles’ voice cracked, “I don’t want to be like you.”

He had to force the conviction in his voice this time, as he was yelling. It was loud where they were, too loud, he hoped, for Derek to hear his heart beating.

The noise that filled the air seemed to take on a mass of its own, pressing in on him from every side. He couldn’t tell the sound from the dark, they both felt so heavy. He couldn’t breathe. Erratic lights kept flashing, causing him to squint, and each time Derek would chuckle. I should have stayed at home… this is dangerous territory, he thought. He ached for his bed and computer and pizza his dad no doubt would have ordered for them to share.

He had lost Scott and Allison what seemed to be hours ago, and Lydia and Jackson had disappeared even earlier than that. He was worried about Lydia, her behavior had become increasingly unpredictable in the past few weeks, and this was not a place for a girl in her position.

“I think you’re lying,” yelled Derek over the noise. His eyes were transfixed on Stiles, which, considering all that was going on around them, was all the more unnerving.

“This isn’t exactly the time or place for this conversation,” Stiles shot back.

“It is if I make it the time and place.”

“Yeah? Why, because you’re a werewolf and somehow that makes you in charge? Well, newsflash: I don’t take orders from you. Scott doesn’t take orders from you. You have your pack, I wish you’d just leave the rest of us –“

“Leave you alone?” Derek grinned at him, the complete opposite reaction Stiles was going for, he noted. “I’d walk away from you right now if your heart wasn’t nearly deafening me.”

Derek leaned in closer to Stiles, causing a bead of sweat to drip down the back of his buzzed hairline.

“That’s right Stiles, even over this racket, these idiotic human beings yelling and pressing up against each other like it’s the end of the world, your heart is the loudest thing in my ears right now. If you’d just –“

“SHOTS!”

Stiles heard Scott’s voice yell moments before he saw his best friend stumble out of the crowd, followed by Allison, shot glasses interlaced in his fingers and alcohol pouring out over his hands.

He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. A drunken Scott plopped the drinks on the dirty, sticky table separating Derek from him, forcing the man to jump back in his seat.

“Hey, watch it, this is leather,” Derek said, checking his jacket for spills, and it was Stiles’ turn to laugh.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing you kids to a place like this,” said Derek, annoyed.

“Oooh Daddy Derek is mad!,” laughed Scott. He was too drunk to care what the Alpha had to say to him right now. Tonight, at this club, in this booth, they were equals. The playing field had leveled. At least, that’s how Scott felt. Stiles was far too sober to ignore the fact that while Scott and the rest had taken the new fake ID’s and extension of friendship from Derek as a pass to roam free, Stiles himself had not left the umbrella of Derek’s watchful gaze.

Stiles slid over to make room for Scott and Allison and turned to his friend. “Dude, where have you been?”

“Listen man, I’ve been at the club! The club where we’re at,” Scott slurred, excited and happier than Stiles had seen him in months. “It’s so cool man, you should come on the dance floor with us, take a shot!”

“But you can’t dance,” replied Stiles.

“Well, true,” said Scott, and he had to think for a moment. “But that was before tonight. Tonight I can dance! Just ask Allison.”

Scott turned to Allison. “Hey Allison, tell Stiles I can dance, tell him!”

Allison laughed into her Long Island and nodded, “He can dance!”

“No, you just think you can dance,” Derek cut in. “There’s a difference.”

They all looked at Derek sitting on the other side of the booth alone.

“Scootch!” Scott said to Allison, ushering her out of her seat and moving to the other side of the table, next to Derek.

Stiles had to laugh to himself as he watched Derek grow increasingly uncomfortable as an all together too drunk Scott put his arm around his bulky, leather-clad shoulders.

“Listen, man, I just want to thank you so much for getting us those fakes, like, that was so cool of you,” Scott slurred into Derek’s ear. “But you have got to loosen up.”

“I’m plenty loose,” said Derek.

Allison scoffed.

“Noooot even close,” said Scott.

“The definition of wound up,” Allison added.

“Here, have a drink.” Scott pushed a shot glass in front of Derek.

“No thanks,” Derek said automatically.

“C’mon man, just one,” said Scott.

“I have to keep my eye on you idiots.”

“Hey now, don’t blame us! We’re fine,” said Allison.

“Not you too,” said Derek.

Allison flashed him a cheeky grin, and Stiles worried what a “looser” Derek would entail. A wound up Derek already scared the shit out of him, although he loathed to admit it, so it couldn’t possibly be worse, could it? He decided to push his luck.

“Yeah c’mon Derek,” said Stiles. “What’s the point of being a big bad ass werewolf if you can’t have a measly drink or two? Doesn’t sound like much of a life to me.”

Derek’s eyes shot from Allison to Stiles. He flashed Derek what he hoped would come off as a cheeky grin of his own.

“Fine, if I take this drink that means you guys lay off,” said Derek.

“It’s a deal!” said Scott, banging the table with an open hand.

“I wasn’t bargaining,” Derek shot back.

He took the shot glass in his hand, but instead of drinking it, he pushed it across the table to Stiles and said,

“You drink with me.”

Not one to back down from a challenge from any werewolf or to say no to free alcohol, Stiles picked up the drink and brought it to his lips and stopped, raising his eyebrows at Derek. Derek took his cue and grabbed a drink for himself, eyes lingering on the boy in front of him.

Oblivious to the tension between his best friend and the werewolf, Scott banged the table again. “Okay, on three! One, two… three!”

Derek raised the class to his lips, eyes never leaving Stiles, and downed the drink in a single gulp. Quickly, Stiles closed his eyes and poured the shot straight to the back of his throat, a burning sensation following the liquid. He forced himself to swallow.

“Holy shit, that is RANK,” said Stiles, gagging and sticking his tongue out. “What the hell was that?”

Scott looked back at Stiles, concerned. “It was a Dirty Girl Scout, dude.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, noticing the tease of a smile at the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Mine must have been stronger… or something… “ He looked away from the table towards the bar. “Inconsistent bartender! We shouldn’t come here again. Shoddy quality.”

Allison reached across the table and took a shot for herself, downing it in one gulp. “Yum,” she smacked her lips together and reached for Scott’s hand, “I want to dance more!”

“I’ll see you guys later!” said Scott as he followed Allison to the dance floor, stopping to yell to the bartender to send another round of shots to his table, “Put it on my tab!”

“Does he even know what a tab is?” asked Derek.

Stiles could no longer make out Scott and Allison amongst the rest of dark bodies on the dance floor. He looked around the rest of the club, for a familiar face, for a girl, for anything, but nothing seemed promising. Turning back to the table, he grabbed one of the remaining shots.

“Bottoms up,” he said to no one, and downed the drink. He slammed the glass down on the table and reached for another one, but it was already in Derek’s hand.

“Well now you’re just drinking by yourself, and that’s depressing,” said Derek, taking the shot himself.

“What do you care?” said Stiles, as he grabbed what was left of Allison’s Long Island and drank it down.

“I don’t.”

One of the few waitresses on the floor arrived with their drinks. Derek tipped her and they sat across the table from each other in silence.

“It’s that Lydia girl, isn’t it?” said Derek suddenly.

Stiles was too taken aback by his question to respond immediately. He had no idea Derek paid enough attention to even notice what was going on with Lydia, much less care enough to ask him about her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” answered Stiles, really to squash the subject.

“Take my advice,” Derek continued anyway, “that whole… ‘Uptown Girl’ thing never works out.”

“’Uptown Girl’… what the- did you seriously just make a Billy Joel reference?“

“You know what I mean”

“Yeah I know what you mean but I’d just really appreciate it if you’d shut up talking about her.”

Lydia’s life had only changed for the worse since werewolves got involved. It wasn’t exactly Derek’s fault, but Stiles could not help but feel resentment toward the fact.

“Fine,” said Derek, “we won’t go there.”

“Thanks,” said Stiles.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before Derek spoke up again.

“Let’s make tonight interesting, let’s make a bet.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “A bet on what?”

“A drinking contest. If you can match me drink for drink, and at the end of the night I promise I will leave you alone. I wont ask you to become a member of my pack ever again.” Derek’s face showed only sincerity.

Stiles thought back to all the nights he spent nursing his dad’s SoCo stash… and the fact that he was the only one he knew that had successfully completed the gallon of milk challenge. He also thought about never being confronted with having to deny the possibility of Derek’s bite ever again. The truth was, Derek’s was a tantalizing offer, and it did pain Stiles to say no each time. He didn’t even know why. After seeing all Scott struggled with during his change, all the complications in his relationships with his loved ones… Stiles should have found it easy to say no, but he didn’t, not by a long shot.

Stiles looked back at Derek, resolved to maintain a cool and calm demeanor, though he knew it was pointless. Derek could hear every betraying beat of his telltale heart.

“Deal.”

Part Two

Stiles had lost track of how many drinks he’d had somewhere around their fourth aptly named “Wolfsbane” shot. A drink it ticked Derek to no end to order. His vision was blurry and his hand-eye coordination was not quite up to par, but other than that, he was feeling pretty good.

“I’m impressed with you Stiles,” said Derek. “You’re keeping up.”

Even through the alcohol-induced haze, Stiles could tell that Derek’s cocky demeanor was just that, a front. His eyes were shiny and so unlike their red glow they were known to take on at a moment’s notice. And he kept… smiling. Derek had smiled more that night than Stiles had ever seen before. In fact, Stiles was one Long Island way from forgetting the fact that Derek was a werewolf at all.

Something was starting between them. For Stiles, it felt like dancing close to the edge of something familiar, but still not knowing what was on the other side. It made him reach for another drink.

“I didn’t know you could handle your liquor so well,” continued Derek.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” said Stiles. This was the game they had been playing all night. The alcohol was only a catalyst; it wasn’t about how much they could drink, but exchanging secrets, proving themselves to one another. Derek proving his humanity, Stiles proving he was worthy of the challenge.

“Oh yeah?” Derek grinned, “Like what?”

“Like…” Stiles thought of all the things he could say that he hadn’t already. He’d already found out, to his surprise, that Derek was a bit of a gamer. I didn’t know half burned down houses had Wi-Fi, he’d said to challenge the Alpha, before they got into a surprisingly in depth discussion on raiding, PvP strategy and the like. But what could he say now? There were things about his mom, Lydia, his dad, disappointments, the difficulty of saying no…

“I’m kinda claustrophobic,” he answered, opting for what he thought was the safe response.

Derek looked let down and said, “That’s a lame secret.”

“Well sorry dude, but it’s the one on my mind right now” Stiles looked around, the club had become even more crowded.

Derek’s gaze flickered over the rest of the club, finally settling on Stiles. “You want to get out of here?” he asked.

Stiles didn’t say anything at first. His eyes searched Derek’s face for some sort of hint of what or where “out of here” meant. Did he want to get Stiles alone? Turn him against his will? Was this all some sort of ruse to get him to let his guard down? Or had Stiles finally reached that level playing field where Scott and the rest (where the hell were they, anyway?) got to poke fun at Derek and spill drinks on his precious leather jacket without repercussion? Was Derek actually trying to be a friend?

“I’m not trying to trick you,” Derek said, more in response to Stiles’ increasing heartbeat than anything. “I’m not completely heartless, I know phobias can make humans… uncomfortable.”

“Since when do you care about my comfort?” asked Stiles.

Derek took a moment to think, leaned forward with a half-smile and in a low voice said, “Since I found out you could go 20-0 in a battleground.”

Stiles laughed. He knew that wasn’t really the reason, but at the same time he didn’t care. He had never been this close to Derek Hale without being afraid, and they were joking around, not arguing, not running for their lives. He was in one moment proud of himself and in the next ashamed, because he wanted to leave with Derek, go wherever he was taking him, follow him out into the dark night, where it was a full moon, where anything could happen…

Stiles realized that Scott would be left alone to deal with the tab if he left now. Well, that’s what he gets for leaving me alone with a surly werewolf that hates my guts, he thought, and shrugged it off, keeping his eyes on the leather-clad shoulders in front of him as he followed Derek Hale out of the crowded club and into the moonlight.

\--

Stiles followed Derek down the club’s damp and dank back alley, emerging onto a rain soaked street lit by scarcely placed streetlights. The man in front of him walked as if he were alone, not looking back even once to see if Stiles followed. But Stiles did follow, never quite catching up, through the city streets adjacent to their home of Beacon Hills, stopping only a single time to pick up more beer at a late night convenience store (a silent understanding that Stiles would wait outside, as he noted that their bet was not over). And now to the woods, through paths in the brush that one could only find if they already knew where to look. And finally to an opening, surrounded by forest and rock ledges on all sides. Through the center cut a small river. Stiles saw no visible way to get across, save wade through. He looked down at his ripped and dirty Adidas, his big toe almost poking through the top, and shrugged.

His eyes followed as Derek walked to what seemed to be a random point in the stream and began to make his way across. To Stiles, it looked as if he was floating on water, but with a squint and a shake of his head and it became clear that Derek knew exactly where raised rocks under the stream formed an under water bridge to get across. He stepped tenderly, yet assuredly. Right, thought Stiles, werewolf.

This was Derek’s home, he realized… at least for the nights when he became his other self and ran wild. Stiles had never thought about what Derek did in his werewolf form, other than harass him and his friends. He guessed that sitting alone in the ruins of his burnt down home wouldn’t hold a half-man half-beast’s attention for very long.

At some point, Stiles had stepped through the threshold of Derek’s front door, and he hadn’t even realized it.

He followed him to the edge of the water but hesitated. He could not see where the stones lay in the water. Derek turned around, already halfway across the river. Stiles, afraid to break the silence that had lingered between them since they left the club, said nothing, but he didn’t have to. Derek, rolling his eyes, retraced his steps and at the edge of the water, held out his hand to Stiles, who took it in his own. He allowed Derek to guide him across the water, imagining scenarios that started with him slipping and ended with either Derek on top of him or him drenched head to toe with a broken ankle and a bruised ego. He wasn’t sure where that first fantasy came from, so he chalked it up to too much alcohol and pushed it out of his mind.

As soon as his feet touched land, Derek let go of him and hunched over, walking further into the forest, farther away from Stiles than before.

Stiles was starting to sober up. Where are we going? He thought to himself. The dense forest was doing nothing to help his claustrophobia. As soon as he had worked up enough courage to break their vow of silence to ask just where the hell they were at, Derek turned around a bend and disappeared into a cavern-like entrance in the rock. The entrance itself was hard to see, but having come this far, Stiles saw no use in hesitating now. He followed him in.

Out of the moonlight Stiles couldn’t see anything, but used his hand to guide himself along the cold dirt and stone walls. Suddenly, he felt the air change and he could tell he had entered a wider space. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a large hole in the ceiling where rocks had crumbled down. A stream of moonlight shone down through the makeshift skylight, illuminating Derek Hale staring directly back at him.

Stiles decided to break the silence once at for all.

“So what, is this one of your werewolf bachelor pads?” started Stiles. “Where you bring back all your wolf bitche-“

And suddenly Derek was in front of him.

“Shut up,” he said.

Stiles started, “I hate when you guys do that. Can’t you just walk like normal –“

“Have a beer.”

Derek held a can up between them and Stiles took it. He walked over to sit against the wall of what Stiles could see now was one of the biggest caves he’d ever explored, even as a child.

“It’s only lacking a few essential commodities… light, furniture, general comfort…” continued Stiles, unable to stop the diatribe coming out of his mouth for fear of the uncomfortable silence returning.

Derek took a swig of his own beer and looked up at him. “Do you ever shut up? I mean really, do you ever stop complaining? I got you out of the club didn’t I?”

At once Stiles felt bad. Here he was complaining about the lack of a couch when Derek had actually taken him some place that was kind of cool.

“I’m sorry dude,” said Stiles. He walked over to where Derek was sitting and bent down to sit on the cool dirt floor, resting his back against the wall. “This place is pretty sweet. Do you come here a lot?”

“I don’t know... sometimes?” said Derek, obviously not into Stiles’ prying anymore.

They sat for a few minutes not speaking to one another, both finishing their beers and opening new ones.

“… I’m sorry dude, but I’m just not quite sure what we’re supposed to talk about,” said Stiles.

“Me neither,” confessed Derek. “Let’s chug some beers.”

“Bro-Derek,” said Stiles. “I like it.”

“Never call me that again.” He tossed him another can.

Several beers later Stiles’ buzz had returned with a vengeance, but this time it was different. He seemed all too aware of his surrounding, like he had tunnel vision and at the end of that tunnel was Derek. He was so aware of how close they were, sitting on the dirt floor, talking about how ignorant most of the world was to the supernatural creatures that lived among them.

“It’s because they don’t want to see,” said Derek. “Scott should have been found out multiple times on the lacrosse field, but unless they’re open to seeing, like the Argents are, they won’t notice it. Thankfully.”

“It just seemed so obvious to me,” said Stiles.

“Yeah, well, you’re smarter than most then,” said Derek.

Stiles paused for a moment. “Whoa, did you just… compliment me?”

Derek sighed. “Well-“

“No seriously, I think you just said I was smart”

“I said smarter than the average human, which isn’t a high bar to surpass in the first place.”

“But still, you said it.”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” said Stiles grinning like an idiot.

“You are exhausting,” said Derek.

“Believe it or not, that is not the first time someone has told me that.”

Shaky on his feet, Stiles steadied himself against the wall in order stand. He wandered to the center of the cavern to get a better through the hole in the ceiling where rock and dirt had caved in. He could see the stars above through overhanging branches. Something flew across the night sky. Bats, he thought, and wondered how late it actually was.

Suddenly Derek was there, his breath hot on his neck. He could feel his massive presence behind him, broad and overwhelming in comparison to his slight and lean frame.

Part Three

Stiles looked behind him. He saw a familiar red glow in Derek’s eyes. He watched, as his canines grew larger. Derek was starting to lose control… like Stiles knew Scott did when he was with Allison.

It was at once completely absurd and logical at the same time. Hadn’t they been through so much together? They had even saved each other’s lives on numerous occasions. Stiles had always made excuses for it, like they needed Derek to stay safe even though he had proven more dangerous than anything, and they had proven themselves to be more than capable. Stiles swallowed and resolved not to think, his mind was too cloudy anyway.

He looked forward again and relaxed his body, feeling the bristle of Derek’s stubble on the back of his neck. Derek’s lips pulled back as he bared his fangs, gently running their tips along the slope of Stiles’ throat, then over the deliciously toned muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder. Stiles shivered, nipples hardening. As if he could sense it (and he probably could) Derek reached a rough, calloused hand up Stiles’ fitted shirt, running it across his stomach and abs, up to his chest where his pecs flexed with anticipation. Stiles was thankful for all those lacrosse practices that were now not for nothing.

He realized he had not been breathing and let out an exasperated gasp, turning around to face Derek. “Derek, I-“

“Shut up,” Derek replied firmly, hand now making his way up Stiles’ back.

“But –“ he breathed in and swallowed, his nose brushing against Derek’s chiseled cheekbone.

“I said shut up,” breathed Derek.

He placed his other hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, “ Or I’m going to rip your throat out…”

Stiles’ body stiffened as he felt Derek’s hot breath on his skin, “with my teeth.”

Stiles shut his mouth and swallowed, but the threat was empty. Derek retracted his fangs as he brought his mouth down on the hollow of Stiles’ neck. Stiles breathed in as Derek worked his way up to this mouth. He allowed himself to relax into the kiss.

It was sloppy, there was no doubt about that. They were both so drunk they could barely stand on their own two feet, much less find a rhythm or anticipate each others next move, but they didn’t care. Something snapped inside of Stiles, and he put all he had built up into that kiss. It was as if it were the most important challenge of the night, Stiles was determined to match Derek move for move, he pushed his body into his, opening his mouth wider, inviting Derek’s tongue deeper.

Derek pushed back, harder, stronger, and Stiles ended up pressed against the cavern wall, using everything he had to grind his hips into Derek’s, arms grasping his neck. He felt his erection growing as Derek’s thigh slipped between his legs. He let out a whimper and Derek stopped. Shit, thought Stiles. That wasn’t very manly. But Derek only returned to working on his mouth and neck with an increased vigor, his hands tearing Stiles’ shirt up off his chest and over his head.

Derek took a moment to admire Stiles in front of him. He was so pale in the moonlight that for a moment it seemed to Derek the boy had been sent down from the moon itself to elicit the beast within him.

Stiles looked back at Derek for a moment and grabbed his leather jacket, pushing it down over his muscular arms and to the floor.

“There goes your street cred,” breathed Stiles.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” said Derek, as he reached down and lifted his shirt over his head.

Stiles allowed himself to drink in the body before him, amazed by what a machine he was. Every inch was perfectly sculpted. He watched the muscles work in unison, like a rippling tide while Derek did nothing but breathe. He moved his honey-brown eyes up to Derek’s hazel ones. There was no doubt, no confusion behind them, only pure and eager lust. Whatever it was that was happening, Derek was all for it.

Whether it was the liquid courage of the fact that Derek wanted him, stiles felt more confident than he could remember. He reached out and grabbed the back of Derek’s neck, pressing hungry and sloppy kisses down his throat and to his chest. He let his mouth linger on each nipple while his hand traced the outlines of Derek’s six-pack. Derek let out a groan. Stiles sunk to his knees in the dirt.

Derek was responding, Stiles could tell through his jeans. He looked up at the man staring back down at him, waiting for his next move. Stiles’ fingers fumbled the button to Derek’s jeans, drawing down the zipper and sliding them down his toned thighs.

Stiles drew in a breath and reached his fingers around the elastic band of Derek’s black boxer-briefs, siding them down over his ass and thighs, revealing his rock-hard hard-on. Derek took himself in his hand and squeezed, a drop of pre-cum formed at the tip of his penis and Stiles opened his mouth, ready to do whatever Derek needed him to.

“Not yet,” said Derek, “I want to see you first.”

Stiles stood up and unbuttoned his own pants while Derek stood watching. He hesitated for a moment before removing his boxers, exposing his own erection.

“Touch yourself,” ordered Derek in a low voice.

Slightly unsure and nervous, Stiles took his cock in his hand and began to stroke it, tugging at it a bit as it grew harder in his own hands.

“Now come closer,” said Derek. Stiles moved closer, his hand never leaving himself, his eyes focused on Derek.

“On your knees.”

Stiles bent down in the dirt in front of Derek, whose hand was soon on the back of his head, guiding his cock into his mouth. Stiles gagged and instinctively reached his hands up to latch onto Derek’s buttocks.

“Don’t stop,” said Derek, waiting for Stiles to touch himself again. This time Stiles took him in his mouth on his own accord, using his fist to work on what he could not take for fear of triggering his gag reflex again. Derek’s hand on the back of his head guided him into a rhythm, and with every pump of his head he took him in his mouth deeper.

“Breathe through it,” instructed Derek, when Stiles began to gag. He shut his eyes tight and took in deep breaths through his nose. Derek’s hand was stern and the pressure unrelenting, but the more he breathed the more his throat relaxed, and the deeper Derek went. 

Stiles could not move, nor did he want to, as he allowed Derek to fuck his face, hand still wrapped around his own cock. As his climax drew near, Derek’s movements became frantic. It was almost too much for Stiles, he could barely breathe when Derek finally jerked his head back and pulled out, leaving a long stream of spit and pre-cum dangling from his gaping mouth.

Stiles gasped for breath and looked up.

“Wha-“ he began to ask. Had he not met his challenge?

“We’re not done yet,” said Derek, raising Stiles to his feet and kissing him hard on the mouth, drinking in the taste he had left on his tongue.

He left Stiles standing on the dirt floor and walked over to his discarded pants, picking them up and searching the pockets, finally pulling out his wallet. He opened it up and rifled through the folds, producing a small rectangular packet.

Stiles stood up. “What’s that?”

Derek looked him in the eye, “Do you trust me, Stiles?”

Stiles thought a moment about the current situation he was in. He was drunk as hell in the middle of nowhere with a werewolf that he had just blown. “Yeah,” he said, “I’d say I trust you.”

“Good,” Derek said with a cocky, drunken half-grin on his face. He walked back over to where Stiles stood leaning against the cave wall. This time it was Derek’s turn to drop to his knees. He took Stiles’ cock in his hand and guided it into his mouth. Stiles gasped and leaned his head back against the stone wall. Derek’s mouth worked over the head and then the shaft, while his hand cupped his balls, massaging them, bringing Stiles almost to climax immediately. Derek needed no coaching, his throat was open and offered Stiles no resistance. 

Derek paused for only a moment to spit on his finger, and with a flick of his tongue over the head of Stiles’ cock he was back to work, taking in every inch, using his tongue to stroke under the shaft on each downward motion. Derek massaged the back of Stiles’ thighs with his hands, guiding them apart and working his way up to his ass. He took his finger, wet with spit, and began to massage the spot where his asscheeks came together.

Stiles inhaled sharply at the pressure on his asshole. Tense at first, he began to rock his hips forward, allowing Derek’s finger to pierce the tight opening. With every thrust Derek’s finger went deeper inside of him. Stiles hips bucked, sending his cock further down Derek’s throat. Derek massaged his finger in and out of Stiles, for as long as it took until he could add another, slicking them with his own saliva, slowly stretching him open. Stiles sucked in a breath, he was so tight, but he wanted more. Derek stopped at the sound, reached down and opened the packet he had grabbed before. In his hand he squirted a clear, slick lube. He coated his fingers in it and went back to work on Stiles’ ass, while he pumped his other lube-soaked hand over his cock.

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from moaning, though it sounded like more like a whimper. Every time he thought he was going to finally finish all over himself and Derek, Derek slowed down. He felt utterly and completely at the mercy of The Alpha’s hands. His own hands grasped the walls for something to hold on to, his fingernails digging into his palms as he fought against himself.

“You’re going to pull the come right out of me,” he gasped.

Derek looked up at him with a wicked, know-it-all smile.

“I can sense your heart rate and body temperature, you really think I don’t know when you’re going to come?”

Derek stood up and took his own cock in his hand, still hard as stone. He took the rest of the lube and covered himself from the base to the tip of the head. Stiles looked down and reached out a hand, massaging the lube onto Derek.

Derek turned Stiles around. He kissed the back of his neck, breath hot on his ear, sucking on his earlobe while he lowered the boy to the floor, putting him on all fours. He kneeled behind him and with his fingers he found Stiles’ sweet spot again, but Stiles wanted more. He lifted his hips up, opening and offering himself to Derek.

Stiles felt Derek preparing to enter him. He tensed. This was going to be far bigger than the three fingers he had just taken. But Derek massaged the opening of Stiles’ asshole with the tip of his cock, relaxing him into it. He slowly pressed in, and Stiles tried to remember to breathe. He felt the tip slide in, an uncomfortable pressure at first, but Derek continued to slowly slide the length of himself inside of him. He pressed even further, and Stiles bit his lip as Derek began to rock his hips, sliding his cock in and out of him. Derek moaned as Stiles’ ass clinched around his cock. Stiles cried out as Derek’s cock massaged the bundle of nerves deep inside him.

He was trying to be gentle, Stiles could tell, but even as a werewolf trained in the art of self-control, Derek was forgetting himself.

Stiles tried to keep up, absorbing every thrust and letting it fill him up. Derek pounded harder, knocking Stiles to his elbows. He grunted, waves of pleasure and pain rippled through his body. Derek growled in response, his hand flat on Stiles’ back, pushing him to the ground. Stiles submitted, ass raised behind him. Every muscle in his body strained under Derek’s weight as his hips rolled into him.

The side of his face pressed into the dirt and Stiles shut his eyes, trying to control his building orgasm. His moans muffled by the dirt, his hands digging into the earth around him.

Derek slowed down, teasing his climax. Stiles whimpered and Derek sped up, slowing once again as Stiles’ toes began to curl and his breath began to grow sharp. It was maddening.

“Harder,” begged Stiles, in barely a whisper. In fact, the plea might have caught in his throat amongst the cries emanating from deep inside him. But Derek heard, or he knew, as he leaned over the boy, biting his back and wrapping his muscular arms around his body, raising him to his haunches, still inside of him.

Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles’ cock this time, pumping his fist in rhythm with his own thrusts. The cruel relief he expected from Derek never came, as the werewolf allowed him to come, warm semen flowed from the tip of his cock onto Derek’s hand, between his fingers, squirting onto his own stomach and cooling on his skin. He shuddered, bucking his hips, riding the waves of pleasure as the orgasm wracked through his body.

Dazed, exhausted and utterly spent he leaned forward. Derek caught him, hand on his chest, and spoke into his ear, “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here.”

Stiles could barely comprehend his words. He was on his hands and knees again, as Derek pounded with a new ferocity into his ass. Stiles cried out, hands and feet digging into the dirt. Derek paid him no mind; the more he squirmed the harder he rode. He finally submitted, his body so wracked from the orgasm he could barely move. His eyes shut tight as he prayed for Derek to finish.

Derek pushed harder, faster, his hands latched onto Stiles’ hips, fingers digging like claws into the soft skin over his hipbones. His breath grew shallow, and at last he grunted as he pounded his semen into Stiles, slowing with every thrust, and finally collapsing on top of him.

With surprising tenderness, Derek slipped out of Stiles and rolled over on to his back. They both lay next to each other, panting, bodies slicked with sweat and speckled with dirt.

Stiles turned over to look at Derek, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Derek turned his head, their hazy, exhausted eyes looking back at each other. Neither of them spoke as Stiles moved into the space between them. Derek reached an arm around him, allowing Stiles to rest his head on his chest, finally getting to listen to his heart for a change.

\---

When Stiles woke up he was completely dressed, although he did not remember how he got that way. He squinted and looked around the cave to find that he was completely alone, sans an empty beer case and the cans that littered the ground. Sunlight shone through the hole in the ceiling. He could hear the sound of birds and running water. Oh, right. He thought. I slept in a cave last night.

He sat up, and immediately regretted it. His body was sore all over, especially the lower half. Slowly he rose to his feet and searched for his phone, which was still in his pocket. He checked the time and was relieved to see that it was still morning, but his heart dropped when he saw he had no service.

Seeing no use in lingering, he walked to the cave’s exit, kicking a beer can on his way out. Guess I won the bet, he thought. But he knew the victory would be bittersweet.

He emerged into the sunlight and allowed his eyes to adjust.

Where the hell am I? He thought, but as he looked around the woods became more familiar to him. They had not been so far from his home, as he had previously thought. He set off in what he thought was the right direction.

The woods grew less dense as he got closer to town, stopping only once to gaze up at the Hale House as he passed. He wondered if anyone was home and had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing much of Derek Hale anymore. That was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? And what about last night? The implications of his time in the cave weighed on him like a ton of bricks. He pushed the thoughts away, resigned to the fact that he would undoubtedly have to face them later.

As he made his way home alerts on his phone began to go off, delivering hours old text messages and voicemails from Scott and Allison asking where he was. He found comfort in the fact that his dad had not yet called, which meant he had not yet noticed his absence.

He put his phone back in his pocket and hunched over. Though it was a hot summer morning, Stiles felt cold and sober.

\---

Back home he crawled in through his bedroom window, discarding his muddy clothes as soon as his feet hit the floor. He collapsed onto his bed, slowly moving his limbs, feeling every ache and memorizing every muscle that hurt. He studied the bruises that littered his hips and he reached around to feel raised bite-marks on his back. Each pang brought a recollection of the night before. He looked up at his ceiling and waited for sleep to come. It didn’t.

\---

The end.


End file.
